


Mudd’s Mail-Order Brides

by luminousbeings



Series: You Don't Have To 'Verse [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Deleted Scene, Episode Reboot, Human Trafficking, Jealous Spock, M/M, Possessive Behavior, S1e06 "Mudd's Women", Themes of dubious consent, Unresolved Sexual Tension, character backstory, references to past sexual abuse, references to the Orion slave girl revolt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7706812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminousbeings/pseuds/luminousbeings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise pulls over an unregistered starship only to uncover an old face and a lot of old issues, for both Jim and Gaila. Deleted Chapter 10.5 of <em>You Don't Have To (Say Yes).</em></p><p>“They’re not my crewmen,” says Harry. “They’re ladies.”<br/>Jim rolls his eyes, his patience wearing thin. “Your crew<em>women,</em> fine!" He turns back to her. "Madam, were you aware of your captain’s illegal—”<br/>Mudd laughs. “You don’t understand. These young lovelies aren’t part of my crew—this is my cargo.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All right so this sucker was supposed to be in between Chapters 10 and 11, after Jim first kisses Spock and before Tom calls Jim to come to Planet Q, but it was eventually cut because it wasn’t strictly necessary to the plot. Still, the episode’s premise makes for a great look at some of the aspects of the characters that didn’t get as much fictime as they deserved (especially Gaila) and a lot of fun to write. So… enjoy!
> 
> AOS rewrite of TOS S1e06, “Mudd’s Women." Please make sure to check the trigger warnings.

“Captain Leo Francis Walsh?” Jim repeats

“He is a well-known reputable pilot,” Spock informs him. “He earned his master’s license for intergalactic vessel piloting in 2224 and has conducted cargo runs for the Federation since 2228.”

“He’s an idiot,” says Jim, flipping through the transcription files on the PADD Spock had provided for this briefing. “Flying an unidentified vessel is bad enough, but then running for it when we tried to make contact with him…” He shakes his head, shutting the screen and handing it back to his First. “I’ll eat my hat if he wasn’t doing something fishy with that starship.”

He looks up into Spock’s just-slightly-wide-eyed face.

“I’m not actually going to eat my hat, Spock.”

The Vulcan’s shoulders relax, if only infinitesimally. “You cannot deny that you have previously performed several unnecessary and inadvisable exploits so as to impress upon your audience the severity of your convictions.”

“You mean I do crazy things for bets,” says Jim.

“Indeed,” says Spock. “Is that not what I said?”

And okay, yes, Jim knows he probably shouldn’t be grinning right now, let alone grinning like a lovesick idiot at his First Officer right now, especially since he’s trying to keep his secret crush—you know— _secret_ , but, well. Here they are. “No, yeah. That’s totally what you said.”

“Theoretically,” says Spock, “he could press charges against the Federation for our chasing him into an asteroid belt.”

Jim snorts. “It wasn’t the asteroid belt that was the problem, it was his engines super-heating and breaking down. We’re the ones who should be pressing charges on him for forcing us to put our deflector screen around him for long enough to beam him and his crew aboard! _He_ nearly overloaded _our_ engines, and that would have been a hell of a lot worse.”

“He did not force us to rescue him.”

Jim looks at Spock, trying to figure out what that tone is, exactly. His little stunt rescuing the unregistered vessel’s crew had saved four lives ( _yay_ ) but it had burnt out three of the Enterprise’s four lithium crystals in the process ( _boo_ ). So… disapproving? Resigned? Thirsty? Hell, he’s worked six months with the guy and he still can’t tell the Vulcan’s two-point-five expressions apart.

“Well, I couldn’t just let them die,” Jim mutters at last.

“I am suggesting nothing of the sort,” says Spock. “I am merely vocalizing the obvious fact that your procedure is… unusual.”

“So you’re calling me weird.”

“I am calling you extraordinary.”

Oh.

Well.

Jim swallows, suddenly overcome with one of the awkward, heavy silences that have insinuated themselves between the spaces of every sentence since what happened on Efros. Since Jim had kissed his First Officer despite his repeated objections.

Since Jim had realized that he was in love with Spock.

Normally the revelation would have dragged along with it some kind of happiness (Jim hadn’t thought he was even capable of loving anyone that way, after everything) or maybe even just a resolution to the crippling sexual tension, but in this case, where Jim is completely certain that his feelings are very much not reciprocated, all it does is make things worse.

Turns out it’s surprisingly difficult to act normal around someone you’re totally head over heels for. Especially when you can still remember how his lips felt.

Almost unconsciously Jim licks his own lips and looks away, hoping Spock doesn’t catch the slight unsteadiness in his voice. “It’s not gonna be so extraordinary if I’ve really destroyed the engine so thoroughly even Scotty can’t fix it this time. Right now we’re running on one lithium crystal and our backup store of emergency fuel.”

“Yes,” says Spock rather stiffly. Or maybe that’s just Jim projecting his own awkwardness on his friend.

He regrets a lot of things about kissing Spock that night on Efros, but most of all he regrets how it turned their friendly, easy banter into a minefield. At least he knows his First will forget about it eventually and it won’t be such a big deal.

Jim doubts he’ll ever forget it, or that it will ever be not such a big deal to him, but that’s the way it works with true love, apparently.

True love sucks, apparently.

Shaking himself out of his depressing thoughts, Jim presses the button beside the conference room entrance and gestures inside. “After you.”

\---

All four crewmen are already seated at the conference table when they arrive, three women he doesn’t recognize and… and—

Jim stares. “Harry?”

Harcourt Fenton Mudd’s head shoots up; his eyes widen. “Jay?”

Spock pauses from where he had been reaching over Mudd to activate the witnesses’ audio receptor to glance back at Jim. “You are familiar with this man?”

“Um,” says Jim. Hoo-boy. How to explain this one… He could always go with the truth, of course: ‘ _We were in juvenile detention together, hooked up all the time because we were bored and teenaged and horny, and—oh yeah—I indirectly got him transferred to a high-security facility during my coup of the abusive executive system.’_

Right. That should go over well.

“This is Harcourt Fenton Mudd,” is what he settles on eventually. “We went to, um. School together?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Is that a question, Captain?”

“Um. No, it’s—we—”

“Captain?” Harry repeats, overjoyed. A little unnecessarily overjoyed, Jim thinks grumpily. “Nice! How many people did you have to blow to make captain?”

Spock’s draws his arm sharply back from activating the secondary console on the table next to Mudd, smashing Harry face-first into table.

“Ah,” says Spock. His voice is very, very blank. “My mistake.”

“Your _mistake_? I’m being brutalized!” Mudd yells, rubbing his nose.

Jim takes a seat across from their detainee. “Mistakes happen, Harry,” he says coolly. “Kind of like your ‘mistake’ when you didn’t answer any one of our four dozen hails.”

“Well, how exactly was I supposed to know this was a friendly starship, _Captain_? There I was, flying along, minding my own business…. And then, suddenly, this strange, enormous ship comes up alongside, very menacing-like. Well. Naturally I did my best to evade you. And starship captain or no, you definitely exceeded your authority when you drove me and mine into a bunch of asteroids.”

“You didn’t know it was a Federation ship?” Jim says incredulously. “It says NCC-1701 in ten-story-high letters on the side!”

“You destroyed my ship!”

“Your engines were half-dead already. It was _our_ ship that nearly got destroyed saving _your_ hides!”

“Well I didn’t ask you to save us, did I!”

“Well we _did_ save you, all right?” Jim snaps back. “And you didn’t even have the basic decency to give us your real name!”

“If I may, Captain,” Spock interjects, his voice calm and impassive as always, bringing the argument to an abrupt halt. Jim draws in a sharp breath, realizing he’d been yelling like a teenager. In front of Spock, no less, who already has more than enough reason to side-eye Jim’s supposed maturity. He shuts his mouth and sits back, mortified. “Even if your disputes held logical merit, Mister Mudd, they would still be rendered irrelevant by the fact that you were flying an unregistered transport vessel in neutral space.”

That, at least, catches Harcourt by surprise enough to make him stop and look at Spock properly for the first time.

“You're part Vulcanian, aren't you,” he notes.

“Vulcanian,” Spock repeats in a voice that sounds blank but is actually expressing his wonderment that the Human race _still_ consistently disappoints his incredibly low expectations.

Huh, so maybe Jim does know his XO somewhat! Or at least he knows that voice. He gets that voice a lot.

In retrospect, that’s probably not something to be proud of.

“It’s Vulcan, okay?” Jim says. “Even you should know that.”

Harry waves that unimportant detail off. “Well you’ll have no interest in my business, then—a pretty face doesn't affect you at all. That is, unless you want it to.” His tone seems to be implying something, not that Jim can tell what.

Spock just stares back at Mudd, his expression positively stony.

“But this one – ” Harcourt continues, jerking his head in Jim’s direction, “if memory serves, this one is most definitely affected by pretty things. And ugly things. Anything that moves, really, he’s not picky.”

“Harry,” says Jim, warning.

Harry grins, “Come on, Jay. What’s a coupl’a little mistakes between old friends?” Which, fine, call in a favor with a previous hook-up, God knows Jim’s done that plenty of times before. He just wishes Harry had more sense than to do that under Spock’s wary eye.

“Captain,” says a new, female voice, mercifully breaking the silence. She must be about Jim’s age, blonde and blue-eyed and gorgeous, and wearing this long red sparkly dress that cuts a strange cross between royal diplomat and stripper. “Our route was very specifically plotted for—”

Mudd cuts her off. “I'll handle the conversation, darling.”

“No, I want to hear what your crewmen have to say.” Jim turns back to her. “Were you aware of your captain’s illegal activity?”

“They’re not my crewmen,” says Harry. “They’re ladies.”

Jim rolls his eyes, his patience wearing thin. “Your crew _women_ , fine! Madam, were you aware of your captain’s illegal—”

Mudd laughs. “You don’t understand. These young lovelies aren’t part of my crew—this is my cargo.”

There’s a pause.

“Your cargo?” says Jim faintly, his stomach sinking. Could this be something far more serious than just an unregistered vessel operation? No—no way, Harry’s an idiot, a liar, a con man to the core, but he’s always been fundamentally harmless. He wouldn’t…

Jim looks again at the three women seated beside Mudd, dressed up and quiet and perfectly docile, and has to push down a surge of nausea.

“Captain, please, I just wanted to—” the blonde woman starts again.

“It's all right, darlings,” says Harry soothingly. “We're in good hands. My good friend Captain Gatsby is going to help us out.” He turns to give Jim an exaggerated wink. “And I’ll be more than happy to repay him. Right, Jay?”

Jim tightens his jaw. “Not this time, Harry. I might have been able to cut you a break if it were just about flying an unregistered vessel or ignoring a Federation frequency hail, but human trafficking is something else entirely. I'm convening an official ship's hearing on your actions. Mister Spock will supply you with any legal information you may need for your defense.”

“You can’t be serious,” Harry protests. “This isn’t you, Jay! You’ve changed too much—gotten all hard-nosed and pathetic."

“Well you haven’t changed at all, Mister _Walsh_ ,” Jim snaps, getting to his feet. “I think we both understand each other.” He presses the transmission button next to the conference table’s main console. “Security, please escort Mister Mudd to his quarters. Confine him there until the hearing.” He pauses, takes a breath, and “—and make sure to keep Lieutenant Vro well away from them.”

Security escorts the four of them out and Jim sighs, trying to rub away an oncoming headache. He could go down to medbay for a hypo and block it off at the pass, of course, but he’d never give Bones the satisfaction.

“Jay Gatsby?” Spock’s voice cuts in to his thoughts, and he looks up at his friend’s raised eyebrows.

Luckily Jim’s comm beeps before he has to explain. “Kirk here.”

“You’re needed on the bridge, sir,” says Sulu’s voice. “We’ve got only one lithium crystal, and that one has already sustained a hairline split at the base.”

Jim blows out a hard breath. “Has Scotty tried rigging a by-pass circuit?”

“No can do, sir. We blew the whole converter assembly beaming Mudd and his crew aboard.”

Great. Just great. “We’ll be right there. Kirk out.”

Jim flips his comm shut. “Duty calls! Let’s go.”

“Captain,” says Spock. “Jay Gatsby is a—”

“Let’s go very briskly, and very professionally, with our minds only on the job!” says Jim, with probably far too much enthusiasm. “’Kay?”

Spock looks at him like he may or may not have lost his mind. “Very well…”

And so they head very briskly and very professionally to the bridge, which means Jim has successfully avoided discussing his stint in juvie, but also means he has to pretend he doesn’t feel Spock’s dark gaze on his back, probably putting everything together already.


	2. Chapter 2

Spock has no idea what’s going on.

He knows enough to be aware that something is, in fact, going on, and given the evidence he has collected on previous goings-on, that it is likely to come back to, as he some of his shipmates might put it, “bite them in the ass.”

Nevertheless, his present duties require his attention fully on the bridge, and on the current crisis rather than the next.

“The majority of the ship's power is feeding through the one remaining lithium crystal,” he informs the Captain. “Auxiliary functions are being supported by the generator. We can maintain operational power levels safely for three to four standard days, but no more.”

“We really can’t switch to any of the by-pass circuits?” Kirk asks.

“We burned every single one out when we super-heated,” says Mister Scott. “That moron Walsh not only wrecked his own vessel, but in saving his skin, he wrecked ours as well!”

Uhura glances over from her station. “Scotty, not that it’s not great to see you, but aren’t we undergoing an engineering crisis? Should you be… you know, in Engineering?”

“Almost a million gross tons of vessel depending on a hunk of crystal the size of my fist!” Scott continues as if she hadn't spoken, his voice almost a wail now.

“More pertinently, that crystal cannot sustain so much power for long periods of time,” Spock adds, although he may admit he is more interested in the answer to Uhura’s very legitimate question

Jim turns. “Well, Mister Spock?”

He quickly reviews his mental catalogue of Federation-affiliated planets rich in high-grade ore. “There is a well-established lithium mining operation on Rigel 12.”

The Captain drums his fingers on the armrest, smiling widely despite the relatively dire circumstances in which they find themselves, as though Spock’s knowledge of interplanetary geology is something extraordinary. “Location and distance?”

“Mister Chekov has the course secured, Captain. It is less than two days’ travel.”

“Rigel 12 it is, then,” says Kirk. “Onward, Jeeves!”

Mister Sulu throws a grin over his shoulder and locks their course to Rigel 12.

\---

Mudd and his women are already there when Jim and Spock enter the briefing room, and immediately Harry rises to greet them with a huge, sycophantic smile.

“Captain, Commander, welcome back. I’d like to introduce you formally to my companions… This is Ruth,” He gestures to the woman furthest from him, a light haired Kindelian girl with freckles as bright as her eyes. “And this is Magda,” he continues, and the dark Nestliyan inclines her head, “And Eve.” He indicates the blonde, blue eyed Human. “Gorgeous, aren’t they?”

They really are, and Jim clears his throat and drags his eyes away because he’s a professional, dammit.

Harry grins as if he’s reading his mind. “Sure, duty to the Federation and exploring the final frontier can be great at times, but men will always be men no matter where they are. Eh, Mister Spock? You'll never take that out of them.”

“I am not quite certain what you intend to prove with such circular logic,” Spock says. “But I suppose I must concede that anyone who can be defined as a man will, definitionally, remain so regardless of his external circumstances.”

Harry looks at him in disbelief, then tilts his head toward his ‘cargo.’ “You can save it with this one, girls. When it comes to these Vulcanians—”

“ _Vulcans_ ,” Jim snaps.

“Whatever,” says Harry. “His kind has no feelings. There’s no use trying to get anywhere with him.”

Jim is halfway to a furious response and Spock has gone eerily silent and still when Ruth speaks up.

“I’m sorry for what he said, sir. He's used to buying and selling people… You know how it is.”

“Unfortunately I think I do,” Jim says tightly.

“Shh,” Harry interrupts. “Calm down now, darlings. We’ll be just fine in the hands of my very close friend Jay, here.”

“Actually I think they have a right to be worried,” Jim replies, irritated. “Depending on what you’ve done, you could spend the rest of your life in jail.”

“Oh come on…”

“ _Human trafficking_ , Harry! If we actually do convict you for this you won't be just some—” He manages to skitter to a halt right before blurting out the words ‘ _juvenile delinquent_ ’. “—some petty criminal,” he ends instead, somewhat lamely.

“Well, I’m not anything yet, not formally at least,” Mudd points out. “I haven’t cashed in on my right to a fair pre-trial yet.”

Jim looks back at him, unimpressed. “Well then today’s your lucky day, because your fair pre-trial is exactly what you’re about to get.”

To his credit, Mudd doesn’t bat an eyelash, just addresses the ladies next to him. “Now don't panic, loves. Just answer every question they put to you, don't lie… Well, of course you won’t lie, you have no need to, have you. Just let me take all the hard questions. In no time at all we'll get to—”

“Get where?” Eve demands. “We don't have a ship and we're headed the wrong way, Harry!”

Mudd gives her a tight smile. “That’s Leo, darling. Don't forget that. So lovely. Lovely, aren't they?” he asks, addressing Jim and Spock now. “If they only think lovely thoughts, if they smile, they'll come out right some which way, won't they? My personal guarantee on that.”

Jim sits down, distantly aware that his knuckles are white and painful around his PADD. “This hearing is convened. Computer, this is U.S.S. Enterprise to Federation Bureau of Criminal Affairs. Stardate 1329.2. Formal hearing against the very-quote-unquote transport captain Leo Walsh.”

“If it can read our minds…” Ruth says quietly.

“It can't, darling. It can't,” says Mudd. “All it can do is match what we say against what’s on the official record.”

“State your name,” Spock tells him.

“Leo Francis Walsh.”

The computer beeps. “Incorrect.”

“Your correct name,” says Spock.

“Gentlemen, surely you're not going to take the word of a soulless mechanical device over that of a real flesh and blood man.”

Jim rubs the bridge of his nose. “Are you serious? I know who you are, Harry, just tell the computer your damn name.”

“Hey, you’re one to talk!” Harry says, more envious than accusatory. “How’d you get them to believe your name was _James Kirk_ anyway? Like the detention center? How did nobody catch that?”

Spock looks at Jim. Jim looks fixedly at his PADD.

“State your correct name for the record,” says Spock again.

Harry scowls at both of them, then mutters, “Harry Mudd.”

“Incorrect.”

“Your correct full name,” says Spock, blank and inscrutable as ever.

Harry growls. “Harcourt Fenton Mudd!”

The computer is silent.

“Do you have any past offenses, Mister Mudd?” Spock asks.

“Of course not.” Mudd grins, spreading his hands. “Gentlemen, I'm simply an honest businessman, trying to make a living, like anyone.” 

The computer beeps. “Incorrect.”

“Oh, screw you,” says Harry.

“Loading all available documentation on Harcourt Fenton Mudd,” the computer replies primly.

A moment passes.

Then another.

“Your documentation seems pretty substantial,” says Jim, unable to help himself.

“Yeah, well not all of us were lucky enough to get hooked up with the right Starfleet connections to land ourselves a captaincy and a governmentally-sealed criminal record.”

“Offense record,” the computer beeps. “Smuggling. Fraud. Transport of stolen goods. Purchase of space vessel with counterfeit currency. Fraud. Smuggling. Sentences: juvenile detention, sixteen months. Community service: eighteen months. Prison, twenty-four months. Prison: ten months. Psychiatric treatment: twelve months. Effectiveness uncertain.”

“Right,” says Jim. “Mister Mudd, you are hereby accused of traveling without a flight plan, without an identification beam, and failure to answer a starship's signal, effecting a menace to navigation.”

“What?” says Mudd, eyes wide. “My tiny ship in this immense galaxy, a menace to navigation?”

“As well as operation of a vessel without a master's license,” Jim continues, ignoring him.

“I have a master's license!”

“Incorrect,” says the computer calmly. “Master's license revoked Stardate 1116.4.”

“All right,” says Harry. “Well, it’s a very long, very interesting story…”

“Let’s make it a very short, marginally interesting story,” says Jim.

“Leo Walsh, the owner and captain of this ship, was supposed to commandeer this trip. But tragically he passed away suddenly the night before takeoff. Well, of course I couldn’t let his final journey go unfinished. I had no choice but to take his ship to the skies myself, carrying on Leo's noble name out of courtesy to him. In memoriam, you might say. It’s a fine, fine name. A fine, fine name for a fine, fine man, who has—alas—gone to his eternal reward far too soon.” 

Aaand the word ‘alas’ has been spoken aloud. This day just gets better and better. “Destination and purpose of journey?” Jim asks, rubbing his face.

“Planet Ophiuchus 3. Wiving settlers.”

Jim blinks. “Come again?”

“I’d love to,” says Harry, smirking. At Jim’s glare he sobers a bit and adds, “I recruit wives for settlers, a difficult but satisfying task. Call it an intergalactic dating system. Or a mail-order bride service!”

“A mail-order bride service, huh,” Jim mutters. “Computer, data on any documentation, licensure, or witnesses to Mudd’s business transactions in regard to his ‘mail-order bride service.’” 

There’s a pause, and then the computer beeps. “No data.”

“Harry…” Jim starts, only to be stopped short by Harry shoving a pile of papers in his face.

“These should be all the necessary contracts,” Mudd says, more than a bit smugly. “They’ve all agreed to the arrangement. I just haven’t had to time to enter them into the system, in my haste to uphold my end of the bargain. I don’t want to let them down, you know?”

Jim takes them. “Ink signatures on paper contracts. That’s… traditional of you.”

Harry smiles. “Call me old-fashioned, but I like to do things the gentlemanly way. Dating. Documentation. Arranged marriages. Things were better when we were in simpler times.”

“Yeah, who needs civil rights anyway?” Jim mutters under his breath as he finishes scanning the contracts and hands them off to Spock.

“What was that, Captain?” Harry asks politely.

Ugh. This whole case. This whole _day_. “Nothing.”

“These do seem to be legal, Captain,” says Spock after a moment.

Jim frowns. “Computer, go to sensor probe. Check for unusual readings of any substance that may have impinged these women’s ability to sign a legally binding contract.”

There is a long moment of silence, followed by a beep. “No decipherable reading on females,” the computer concludes. “However, unusual reading on most male and many female board members with visual access to the women in question. Detecting high respiration patterns, perspiration rate up, heartbeat rapid, blood pressure higher than normal. Both Human and non-Human genitalia readings show indication of—”

“Er, no, that’s sufficient, computer,” Jim interrupts quickly, his face hot. “Strike that from the record.”

“You see, gentlemen, just as I told you: three lovely ladies destined for frontier planets to be the companions of lonely men, to supply that warmth of a human touch that's so _desperately_ needed. To give them wives. Homes. Families.” Mudd places a somber hand on his chest. “Gentlemen, I look upon this work as a sacred public trust, a calling, even. I've devoted my whole life to it.”

The computer beeps. “Incorrect.”

“Well, I'm about to start devoting my whole life to it,” says Harry.

“Look, we all know there’s one main difference between human trafficking and mail-order bride services,” Jim says, cutting to the chase. He turns to the women and just says it straight-out: “Please answer honestly. We will make sure no one can hurt you for your testimony. Did you enter into this arrangement voluntarily?”

“Well, of course they did!” says Mudd. “Now, for example, Ruthie here comes from a pelagic planet, female-dominated field, hardly any men. Magda there is from the new helium experimental station—”

“Was I talking to you?” Jim snaps. He turns back to the girls. “Answer the question.”

“I’m just saying, she needed help finding someone she could—”

“I swear to God, Harry,” Jim grinds out. “Test me _one more time_.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

Harry quirks an eyebrow, but breaks eye contact first. Sits back in his chair. “Go ahead, girls. Tell him.”

“Yes,” Ruth whispers.

And Magda, next, “Yes.”

And Eve, last, “Yes, of course we came with him voluntarily! It’s not every day such an opportunity presents itself, Captain. My farming planet had barely any eligible men available, only machines for company and parents and siblings to cook for, to mend their clothes, clean the mud off the carpets every time they walked in…”

“Fine, Evie, fine,” says Mudd.

“It's not fine!” Eve bursts out. “We've got men willing to be our husbands waiting for us, and you're taking us in the opposite direction! And… and staring at us like… like we were filthy Orion harem girls or something!”

“That’s enough, Evie,” says Mudd, louder this time, and sure enough she lets it go.

“I assure you we don’t see you at all like Orion slave girls,” Jim tells her. His palms have gone numb where his nails are digging in to them. “The women of Orion deserve _respect_.”

“Captain,” says Spock. There’s no inflection in his voice whatsoever, but Jim understands it for the warning it is and takes a long breath.

“Why are you so desperate to get married?” Jim asks the women. “It can’t be love – you don’t even know these men’s names.”

His question is met with silence.

“So if you’re not doing it out of love,” Jim continues, his voice far steadier and calmer than he feels, “then what could your motivation be?”

The room is quiet, frozen save for Eve biting her lip in an effort to keep from blurting out her objections again.

“Ruth,” Jim says, looking at her. “Your files say that both your parents died in the recent wave of Candorian plague in the Kindelian continent…. And, well. It’s not easy for an eighteen-year-old to support four little brothers by herself. Enough to make anyone desperate for money, don’t you think?”

“I,” says Ruth. She looks at Harry, then at the table. “It’s…”

Jim blows out a hard breath and turns to the woman next to her. “And Magda, the Nestliyans are in the midst of a horrible civil war, and as a Lyrr you’re on the wrong end of it. With so many planets refusing refugees right now, have you, perhaps, considered that this mail-order bride service could be a way to gain citizenship to a planet where you wouldn’t be slaughtered for your religious beliefs?”

Magda swallows and doesn’t respond.

“And Eve,” Jim says, and has to stop before he says something stupid. Tries again. “Eve, I don’t know what they’ve done to you, but you have to know that this isn’t right. This isn’t real consent to a fulfilling lifelong relationship.”

“How dare you!” she cries.

“Is this relevant, Captain?” Harry asks, not at all threatened. If anything, he just sounds amused. “It doesn’t really matter why they agreed, does it? They signed the contracts. They agreed. Fully aware of what they were doing.”

“I am afraid Mister Mudd is correct,” says his First quietly.

Jim looks up at him. “Et tu, Spock?”

“There is nothing illegal about Mudd’s operation. They are all above the legal age and under no mind-altering substances. They do seem to have entered into this arrangement…voluntarily.”

“That’s right,” Harry pipes up. “If they didn’t want me to help them find husbands they didn’t have to say yes.”

“Yeah,” says Jim with a mirthless smile. “They just couldn’t say no.”

"If they didn’t want to do this, they should've just said no. How am I supposed to know the difference?"

And God help him, all Jim wants to do is show him the story of Oedipus, or maybe just shake him by the shoulders and yell that he must _know_ somewhere inside himself that it’s wrong, that these girls are desperate and being forced to choose between two horrible scenarios. Instead he grits his teeth and says, “It isn’t that simple.”

“If you don’t want something, then you just say no to it. That’s what _I_ did.” Harry looks at Jim, his expression innocent, his eyes gleaming. “What did _you_ do when he called you to his office, Jay?”

Jim is on his feet, his hands slamming the table before he knows what he’s doing. “Mister Mudd, this trial has found you guilty of operating an unregistered starship and flying without a license. Do you have any defense to offer?”

“Only heaven's own truth, which I've just given you,” he replies, smiling.

Jim grits his teeth. “This hearing is closed. You will be confined to the prisoners’ quarters under guard of an officer at all times and handed over to the legal authorities at our earliest opportunity.”

“But—” Eve starts.

“Don’t worry, the charges are only against your ‘captain’ here.”

That doesn’t seem to assuage her at all. “But our husbands—”

“Your husbands will just have to wait until justice is served,” Jim says, snapping the computer shut. “Officers, please take them to their quarters.”

They do, Eve still scowling, and Mudd rises with them only to be stopped by Spock’s quiet, “If you could spare just a few more minutes, Mister Mudd, I have a few further questions.”

Jim stares at him. Harry sits back down.

“Of course, sir. What can I do for you?”

But he’s looking at Jim when he asks, “Am I correct in assuming that you and the captain were previously engaged in a sexual relationship?”

“ _The hell_?” says Jim.

“You are obviously familiar with one another,” Spock explains, undeterred. “Given your record of other…acquaintances it is not unreasonable to ask.”

“In what way is this _reasonable_?” Jim yells.

“Yeah, Jay, were we engaged in a sexual relationship?”

Jim glares at him, then at his First, then at the table. There’s no way out of this gracefully, is there? “Maybe,” Jim concedes finally, “once or twice.”

“—a week, for six months,” Harry adds.

Jim squirms. “Is this really necessary, Spock?”

“It is very necessary,” says Spock calmly. “In the event of a past relationship, you may be compromised in your role in his criminal investigation.”

“Hey, you know I’m not compromised,” Jim protests.

The Vulcan looks at him. “Because you do form attachments to your companions?”

The memory rises again, unbidden, that first (only) kiss, Spock shoving him backwards, the horror and shame that he’d tried to distract himself from with Atreonid immediately afterwards… “You’re still angry,” is what comes out of Jim’s mouth, because what else can he say? That he shouldn’t be?

“I am Vulcan, Captain,” says Spock, his attention now fully on his PADD. “I am not angry.”

Harry glances between them. “Should I leave you two alone?”

Luckily, the moment is broken by an incoming call on Jim’s com. Not so luckily – “It’s our last crystal, sir,” says Scotty, sounding panicked. “It's gone.”

Of course. Of course it is. “I’ll be right there, Scotty. Don’t—” The call is interrupted by another beep, this time from the helm. “Gimme some good news, Sulu.”

“Sorry, Captain, no can do. Engineering says our entire life-support system is operating on our last back-up generator.”

“Wonderful.”

“I will attend to this issue, Captain,” says Spock.

“You don’t have to— I mean, the generator will keep us until landing. And technically we’re not on duty anymore…”

“I see nothing further to discuss here. I will assess the situation on the bridge and contact the miners on Rigel 12 to notify them that we will need replacement lithium crystals immediately upon arrival. Captain.”

His First Officer has pretty much dismissed himself, but he’s still Vulcan – he won’t leave until his commanding officer actually says the words, and Jim’s not stupid or needy enough to keep him here and beg him to not be angry anymore.

Well, not stupid enough anyway.

“Dismissed, Mister Spock.”

Spock inclines his head and walks out. Jim watches him go, leaning back against the conference table, suddenly exhausted.

“So,” says Harry. He’s doing that stupid thing where he waggles his eyebrows and sticks his tongue out, exactly like when he was fifteen. Jim can already feel the headache building. “You and your First Mate, huh?”

“It’s First Officer. And nothing’s going on, okay?”

“Touchy, touchy.”

“My crew is frantically trying to keep your stupidity from plunging my starship out of the sky and killing us all, I think I’m entitled to be a little _touchy_.”

“I mean, I get that it’s a fancy gig – you’ve got the room and board and unlimited hookups all in one – but between you and me, Jay? It seems like more trouble than it’s worth. So indulge me, buddy. What’s keeping you here?”

Jim sighs. “There’s no convincing you that I just enjoy the job, is there?”

“Oh come _on_. People don’t change. You’ve got to be getting something good enough to make you sell out like this.” Harry nods toward the door. “Is it the hot piece of Vulcanian ass?”

“I’m leaving,” says Jim, getting to his feet. “Have fun in your quarters, Harry.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t hit that! At the very least you know you _want_ to.”

“Shut up, Harry,” says Jim. He can still feel the kiss burning on his mouth, Spock’s wide, confused eyes, backing up, saying _no_ , and Jim had just—

“You do want to,” Harry crows. “That’s just… Well, I mean, it’s _precious_ , Jay.”

“I said,” Jim manages, “shut up.”

“Aww, give it a rest. It’s not like you’re actually in love with the guy.”

It’s only for one blindingly idiotic moment that all thought flies out of his head, leaving Jim speechless and staring, but that one moment is more than enough.

Harry bursts out laughing.

“Oh, my God,” he cackles.

“I’m not in _love_ with him,” Jim lies through his teeth.

“Well, of course you’re not,” says Harry, still laughing. “But the fact that you think you are is, just… I mean, you’ve got to see how funny this is.”

Jim just looks at him.

“Well, he’s _Vulcan_ , for one….”

“I knew you were pretending to not know the right word, you dick.”

Mudd brushes that off. “He’s Vulcan. And you’re….Well.”

“Just spit it out.”

“You’re damaged goods, Jay. In more ways than one. I think you're just jealous because my ladies here are heading toward their loving husbands, their new families, and you, well. You’re a good lay, sure, but nobody wants to _marry_ someone like—”

Jim drags him forward into a painful, sloppy kiss, and finally, _finally_ he shuts the hell up.

When he pulls back, Harry is smirking. “Ahh, there he is.”

Jim scowls. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“My favorite words,” says Harry cheerfully.

“You know that doesn’t exactly say good things about you, right?”

Mudd shrugs. “No loss there. There _is_ nothing good to say really.”

Jim enters the code to open the door and pulls Mudd down the hall with him.

“I thought I had to be under constant surveillance by a Starfleet officer,” says Mudd, glancing around like he’s mapping his escape.

“I _am_ a Starfleet officer, you idiot.”

“Right, right. Adorable, that.”

They get to Jim’s quarters and the doors close behind them. “You’re a real piece of work, Harry,” Jim mutters, shoving him onto the bed.

Harry laughs, tangles a hand in his uniform, pulls him down. “Please. You think you’re any better?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever want to talk about this fic or anything else, feel free to contact me here or at my [tumblr](http://famous-wwi-flying-ace.tumblr.com/), my home for fic previews and updates and cute pictures of cats.


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